


Watching You Like This // Like a King Beside You

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Feminization, First Kisses, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kink, M/M, OMC - Freeform, Panty Kink, Porn, Pretty Harry, background LP/NH, background ZM/PE, practise kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 06:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: “Yeah, totally.” He’s in. He’s absolutely in. He’s in past his dying breath. Come to think on it, he might actually be dying. “Tomorrow works, if you’re free.”::





	Watching You Like This // Like a King Beside You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from What a Feeling, because why not
> 
>  
> 
> I feel like I saw a prompt with a sort of similar premise like years ago but I CANNOT FUCKING RECALL THE PAIRING (bandom is lifelong, apparently) and I did not mean to steal someone's idea. I hope I did the feminization kink justice while also doing the boys-kissing thing even more justice.
> 
> I'm the only one who's read this, all errors are mine. This story is based on fictional versions of real people.

“Get a room!” Louis crows at Zayn and Perrie from across his back garden. Beside Louis, Harry snickers, ducking his face into Louis’ shoulder. He knows that the only rooms available belong to Louis and his family members, because this is a house party, and everyone’s pissed, and no one’s driving home any time soon.

Perrie pulls off of Zayn’s face, flipping them the V without opening her eyes. Zayn shoots Louis a wolfish grin before grabbing Perrie’s hand.

“Since you’re offering, think we’ll take then kitchen, then,” he announces, heading inside.

Harry open-mouth laughs, nearly tipping over the garden wall even though Louis’ shoulder is there to support him. The music pitching through the shitty outdoor speakers does nothing to drown Harry’s laughter out, so Harry quiets down a bit before taking a sip of his drink.

Louis snorts. “Exhibitionists.”

Harry quirks his lips up, bumping into Louis’ arm gently. “Nice, though, innit?”

“Getting naked in my garden?” he replies, voice thoughtful as though he’s truly considering it. “I mean I guess, under the right circumstances.”

Harry laughs again, knowing his voice rings loudly through the crowd around them. “No, I—yeah, I know you’re joking, obviously, but I meant it’s nice, what they’ve got. Or whatever.”

Louis takes a long drag from his beer. His response is quiet. “Suppose.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry’s cheeks flush a bit, realising his misstep. Louis and El have just split up, after all, and just because his thing with Taylor ended amicably, it doesn’t mean that everyone else’s breakups go well. He knows this.

He knows this. He does. He just, it’s just that he really, really dislikes remembering that Louis has ever liked or loved or dated or kissed anyone at all.

(Anyone but him.)

“Sorry,” Harry tacks on, and he is sorry. He doesn’t want Louis to feel melancholy, he only wants him to feel every good thing. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Louis shrugs a bit, pulling away. “S’not that.”

“It’s—it’s not what?”

“It’s not about me and Eleanor.” He sighs. “Or, well, it is, but it’s not.”

Harry stiffens. He no longer knows what to do with his hands, so he just keeps clutching his drink like maybe that will fix his predicament. “Right.”

“You don’t get it.”

“No?”

“I didn’t tell you,” Louis adds.

“Okay.” Something drops inside Harry’s gut, and it’s not the two drinks he drank before coming outside.

Louis chugs the rest of his beer before taking out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He lights one, staring off into the garden. Harry waits, watching the people around them socalise and drink. He notes that Niall’s doing a keg stand, quirking his head when he sees just how tightly Liam’s clutching at his legs. He thinks maybe that’s a conversation for another day, however, because he’s really trying to attend to what Louis’ saying.

“We, like.” Louis snorts. “Eleanor and I never even kissed, is the thing?”

Harry’s head snaps so quickly that his neck pinches. “Uh, you didn’t?”

Louis inches away, sucking again at his beer. Harry thinks Louis’ cheeks are pinking up. “No.”

“Like with any—”

“Never kissed a girl. No.” Louis clears his throat. “Not anyone.”

“Oh, well that’s. That’s okay, you know? That’s fine.”

Louis snorts, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“I haven’t either. But. Like.”

Louis turns to him quickly. “No?”

“Nah, but like. We could practise, yeah?”

“What do you mean, practise?”

“For when you get a girlfriend again,” Harry offers with a shrug.

“What—what about Taylor?”

“Think she’s dating someone else, really. Only went out to dinner a coupla times, didn’t really work out.” Harry’s completely positive that both he and Taylor both know why things didn’t work out between them. During their final, fateful date, they spent more time flirting with their waiter than each other. Given that they’re both naturally pretty flirtatious, Taylor may have been more understanding if their waiter hadn’t been male.

“Oh.” Louis is silent for a few more moments. He finishes his cigarettes and drops it on the ground, stamping it beneath one foot. “What do—what does practising mean, exactly?”

“Well it’s not like you can feel experienced at kissing girls if you’ve never done it before. So you don’t even know if you’re good at kissing someone, and like, I don’t know if I am either. But I’m right here, right, and I don’t mind helping out my best mate. Can’t be too much different than kissing a girl,” he adds, smiling self-deprecatingly. His heart is beating fast, and he thinks that he’s talking way, way too fast. “Can’t even grow any facial hair yet, can I?”

Louis turns towards him and ruffles Harry’s curls, laughing. “That last bit is well true.”

“So? What do you think? Squint your eyes and tip your head sideways, I could be a girl, right?”

“Course. You’d make a pretty girl,” Louis replies, and all of a sudden, Harry feels stone-cold sober. “Dress you up in flowers and lace, you’d be downright gorgeous.”

Harry nearly whimpers, a shiver going up his spine. He hums a bit, warmth pooling in his belly, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Louis ruffles Harry’s hair again. “And anyway, it’s not really the kissing I’m most worried about.”

“D’you mean?”

“S’embarrassing.”

“What is? I mean, it’s just me,” Harry reasons, as if that is actually a convincing argument.

Louis holds his breath for a moment. “I’m more freaked out by like—you can’t laugh—not being able to undo a bra. Don’t laugh!” he immediately demands, poking Harry hard in the bicep.

“I’m not laughing!” Harry promises, defensive. Harry always finds Louis hilarious, but this isn’t the kind of thing he’s likely to laugh about.

“They look complicated. It freaks me out.”

“How do you know they’re complicated?” Harry swallows, wondering if Louis’ answer might resemble his. Likely not.

“I have four sisters and a mum. I’ve done the laundry rotation my fair share of times.”

“Right.” Harry has a sister and a mum, too, and he sometimes has to do the laundry. That’s where the comparison ends, however, because Harry’s not particularly afraid of bras. Quite the opposite, in fact, but he knows that now is not the time for that kind of confession.

“And I’m not fucking borrowing one of theirs like a pervert. That’s creepy.”

Harry’s face flushes at the word _pervert_ and worse at the word _creepy._ “I—no, that’s not what I was going to suggest.”

Louis shrugs one shoulder. His voice catches when he tries to speak. “You—you have a suggestion, then?”

“Yeah. I told you. Practising.”

“I’m meant to practise kissing with you, am I?”

“F’you like.”

“And taking off a bra, then, I suppose,” Louis adds airily before finishing his beer.

“Yeah. Not so hard to get one, is it?”

“I’m not stealing one from my sisters!”

“Nor am I,” Harry insists, because he’s not, that much he knows.

“What, you expect me to waltz into a fucking Primark and buy a—what do I even buy?”

Harry snorts. “It’s fine, mate. I can take care of it.”

“What?”

“What are best mates for?”

:

Harry sort of assumes that Louis will have accidentally or purposefully forgotten their conversation come the following week, but he’s wrong. He’s glad to be wrong, he hoped against hope that it wasn’t an idle conversation of idle promises.

Louis finds him on Thursday after they’ve finished up their last lessons of the day. Harry knows that Louis’ just left geography, his least favourite class, and Harry had an uncharacteristically terrible Spanish tutorial. Seeing Louis is a balm, even if his face is slightly twitchy, his shoulders tense.

“What’s up?” he asks, slipping his saddlebag over his shoulder.

“I, uh.” He fidgets with the strap of his rucksack.

Harry furrows his brow.

“Can we hang out this weekend?”

“Yeah, course.” His confusion intensifies, given that he and Louis hang out nearly every weekend. “Is—is there something wrong?”

“No! No. I just thought, um. You mentioned something about practising.”

 _Practising._ “Oh, right. Yeah.” Harry shrugs, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. It won’t budge.

“So? You in?”

“Yeah, totally.” He’s in. He’s absolutely in. He’s in past his dying breath. Come to think on it, he might actually be dying. “Tomorrow works, if you’re free.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mum and Robin are doing their anniversary dinner thing.”

Louis chuckles lightly. “So you’re on Dusty duty?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “They act like taking care of a cat is a massive responsibility.” He considers for a moment. “But they do always bring me home leftovers. And they come home so sloshed that they don’t really notice I’ve raided the liquor cabinet, so.”

“Guess everything’s coming up Harry, then. Good deal.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Harry asks after a long, slightly uncomfortable pause.

“Awesome, yeah. I’ll come over after I drive the girls home from school?”

Harry finally lets himself smile. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

:

He answers the door Friday evening wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of trackies that Louis once left at his house. “Hey,” he says, pulling Louis into a loose hug. “Come in. I was just finishing dinner.”

“Oh? What’d you make?” Louis asks, hefting his rucksack a little higher onto his back as he steps through the door.

“Fajitas. You want?”

“Yeah, sure.” He toes out of his shoes but keeps ahold of his bag. His face looks set, determined.

“You—you don’t have to on my account. I won’t be offended.”

“S’not that.” Louis shrugs one shoulder, looking at the floor. “M’like. Nervous. Embarrassed.”

“Oh. But it—it’s just me, yeah?”

“Right.” Louis’ voice sounds strangled.

Harry clears his throat. “Or. Do you just wanna go up to my room, instead?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Louis mounts the stairs before Harry can even step closer to him, face flushing as he stomps away. Harry’s glad he’s not the only one feeling undone by the situation. He quickly follows behind Louis, biting on his bottom lip. When he gets into his bedroom, Louis has dropped his bag and shucked off his jacket. “All right?” he asks without looking up before plopping down on Harry’s bed.

Harry’s glad he thought to pull up the duvet before Louis arrived. “Yeah. All right?”

“Yeah.”

“Reckon we should start with something easy,” Harry murmurs, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

“I, uh. About that.” He bends at the waist so he can pick up his rucksack. “I brought a few things?”

“I told you not—”

“Nothing much,” he adds, undoing the zip. He pulls out a tube of lipgloss and a bottle of nail lacquer, eyes still trained on the floor of Harry’s room.

“Oh.” Harry’s surprise turns into a small, earnest smile. He extends a hand towards Louis. “Can I see?”

Louis’ eyes flicker up to meet Harry’s gaze, and he hands over the gloss and polish without a word. Harry looks at them, considering—the lacquer is pale purple, almost a lavender, and the lippie claims to be flavoured of cherry. “See, not much.”

“They’re lovely, Lou. Really pretty. Thanks.” Harry’s being completely genuine—purple is his favourite colour, and pastels tend to flatter his skin tone. He focuses first on the gloss, however, twisting open the cap and taking out the attached little brush. “Put it on me?” he asks, holding the cap out to Louis. He’s acting shy, coy—more so than he has any right to, given his level of experience with makeup.

Louis startles, eyes snapping up to meet Harry’s gaze. His golden skin glows a little as his cheeks flush. “Really?”

“Practise makes perfect.” This, he knows for sure, because he is an old hand at putting on lipgloss. Nail varnish, too. He has no idea how to admit to Louis that the whole thing started because Gemma forced him to play Beauty Shop as a kid, as it’s now escalated so exponentially.

 _The whole thing,_ Harry sighs to himself, as if a feminization fetish is so simple. As soon as he thinks it, his own cheeks flush. In that moment, he and Louis match, but soon they won’t. Soon they won’t match at all, because Louis is reaching out to take the lipgloss brush from Harry’s outstretched hand.

Harry steps closer and hands the gloss off, fingers gently brushing against Louis’ skin, entirely on purpose. Lately, Harry has figured out that the only way to get anywhere in life is to mix gentle manipulation, a bit of calculated flirting, and his dimples.

He’s only self-conscious about a few things, and while his kinks certainly top the list, Louis doesn’t seem to be complaining much right now.

Louis’ hand is steady as he brushes the sticky gloss along Harry’s puckered lower lip, adding some to the top afterward. He mimes to Harry, pressing his lips together so that Harry can imitate him.

“Thanks,” Harry says, smacking his lips once. “Sit on the bed, yeah?” He shoves gently against Louis’ shoulder, and Louis walks backwards until his legs hit the mattress, where he drops down. Harry slips his thumbs into the waistband of his trackies and shucks them in one movement, keeping his eyes on Louis’ rapt face.

His hoodie is long enough that only his legs are on display, his upper thighs and torso still hidden from view.

“Sitting on the bed, I am. What, uh. What about you?”

“I have something else in mind.” Harry runs his fingers along the hem of his hoodie, hooking them just inside. His skin is warm, and he knows he’s flushing under Louis’ attention, yet he pauses before pulling the sweatshirt all the way off. “Ready?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“Guess we’ll have to see,” Harry responds, attempting to sounds casual—he doubts he succeeds. His pulse picks up as he pulls the hoodie off. For the moment that his face is hidden behind the sweatshirt, he nearly panics, but then his head is free.

Louis’ mouth has fallen open, and at first his eyes are trained on Harry’s chest. Eventually, his gaze travels lower and back up again, taking in the whole scene before him. Harry ducks his head bashfully, arms falling to his side as he drops his hoodie.

He has on a pale-yellow camisole dotted with small roses. It’s so short that it doesn’t even graze his hips, a strip of skin on display above the lacy pink panties he has on. Beneath the camisole, he’s wearing a matching pink bra, lacy and dotted with roses.

Watching Louis watch him, he ruffles his hair a bit, letting it fall until it curls just above his shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Louis breathes, eyes raking up and down Harry’s body again.

“You think?” Harry exhales, pulling loosely at the hem of the camisole.

“Definitely.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t notice that his shoulders were tense, but as soon as Louis praised him, they went loose with relief.

“You look—you look—”

Harry waits, biting his bottom lip.

Louis stands, moving towards Harry quickly. He settles one hands onto Harry’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. “You look amazing.” He snakes his other hand up around Harry’s neck, yanking Harry down towards him, crashing their mouths together. Harry’s arms and legs go limp, and he might have fallen over if not for Louis’ strong hands on his side and the nape of his neck. Instead, Harry falls into Louis, leaning into his chest, connected at every single pulse point and junction.

Louis immediately nibbles at Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry whines, opening his mouth. They breathe into one another for a moment, caught up in the feeling of each other. Harry finally grabs hold of Louis, settling his hands onto Louis’ shoulders and grasping them hard.

Harry presses his tongue in experimentally. He’s never done this before, never experienced anything other than chaste pecks on the cheek, and he’s kind of going in blind. But he’s got an ace in the hole with the unexpected lipgloss, and he presses his lips in harder to Louis’ so that he can taste the sweetness, too.

Louis himself tastes sweet, sort of like he’s just eaten a bit of toast with jam, but also harder than that. He keeps biting a bit at Harry’s lip, while Harry’s trying to touch his tongue to Louis’ own. Harry huffs out gently, feeling more awkward than preferred.

Trying to embolden himself, he pulls back before darting back in, attaching his glossy lips to Louis’ neck. Louis groans slightly, the sound resonating through his throat and into Harry’s lips. Harry hums against Louis’ warm skin, moving his hands slowly down Louis’ shoulders until they can settle comfortably around his hips. Louis groans louder, stretching his neck to give Harry better access.

“Fucking hell.”

Despite his nerves, Harry smiles a bit. He starts to suck at Louis’ collarbone, lathing his tongue before nipping gently with his teeth. He repeats the combination of licking and biting after he hears Louis groan again. The gloss is nearly gone from his lips, but the skin between them is sticky and sweet-smelling.

“What are you doing to me?” Louis murmurs, and Harry feels himself flush hot. He gasps, pulling away, feigning that he’s not losing all of his shit simultaneously. He licks his lips, noticing that Louis’ eyes track the movement. He backs away just a fraction, cocking one hip, trailing his hand along the hem of the camisole.

“What do you want to do to me, then?” Harry replies, purposely misrepresenting his understanding of what Louis said. Louis’ jaw visibly drops, and he flicks the fringe off his forehead before speaking. It’s a nervous habit he has, Harry knows, but his own nerves are so lit that he still doesn’t feel settled by that fact. He watches Louis move away slightly, and he tries to recover the best he knows how. “For practise,” he adds, hoping he sounds reassuring rather than trepidatious.

Louis clicks his mouth shut. His eyebrows furrow together, but he moves closer to Harry. He places a hand over Harry’s, at the bottom of the camisole, lacing their fingers together. He leans in slowly, pressing his lips to Harry’s cheek.

It feels too chaste, and Harry’s blood turns to fire. He yanks Louis towards himself, pressing their lips together so hard that their teeth clack. He momentarily pulls away, muttering an apology before diving back in.

Louis snakes a hand around Harry’s waist, cupping his arse through the silky material of his panties.

 _His_ panties. Christ.

Harry gasps again, separating their lips so that he can ask, so that he can roughly beg, “Fuck me?”

Louis backs away so quickly he nearly falls over. His feet trip and his face is a mask of shock bordering on panic. “What, for—for practise? I—” His eyes shutter and his jaw sets, hard. He darts forward, pressing another quick, chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek, but his face is still wan. “I have—to go.” He grabs his bag and kisses Harry’s cheek a third time. “I’ll call you.”

Harry wants to demand that Louis gives him a promise, but his voice has stopped working. By the time Harry looks to the door of his bedroom, it’s been slammed shut.

:

Harry slowly strips off the cami and bra, but he can’t bring himself to take off the panties. He shoves the discarded clothes under his mattress and puts his trackies back on before slipping under his duvet. His pillows are mashed against the wall, and he can’t find his phone to put on some music, so he just falls into a fitful doze, cheeks tacky with drying tears and smeared lipgloss.

 

He wakes to knocking and a sleepy-sounding greeting from his mum. She opens the door and ducks her head inside. “Heading to bed love, just wanted to let you know we’re home.” Harry pretends to be asleep, listening closely as his mother quietly shuts the door behind herself.

:

Harry keeps the panties on the next morning after he drags his way out of bed, but he covers himself up in layer after layer over top. He shrugs on a baggy tee-shirt, a hoodie, and fuzzy house slippers, all on top of his sagging trackies.

He makes an omelette with some spinach and feta, feeling lackluster at best. His mum is already up drinking tea at the table, the paper open in front of her. Even possibly hungover—she claims she can no longer drink the way she used to, although occasionally she tries—she’s soft, her brown hair backlit by the morning light.

“Morning, love.” She hums a bit, taking a sip of her tea. “Oh, Jay mentioned that Lou stopped by yesterday, yeah?” she asks as Harry is about to flip the eggs for the last time.

Harry feels like his sinuses are clogging up, but he eventually manages to suck in a breath. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s lost the ability to take in oxygen. “Did he bring back the muffin tin I lent her? Only, she mentioned she might have forgotten to remind him, and I was hoping to bake before the festival ‘do upcoming.”

“Um. No. No, he forgot.”

Harry’s mum shrugs one shoulder, her fuzzy dressing gown mussing her hair. “Might head over there in a bit, then. She’s been meaning to trade-off and lend me her copy of _Gone Girl._ before book club.” Anne turns to Harry, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “You don’t care,” she exhales on a chuckle as he flips his omelette onto a plate.

“No, I do. I’ll—go with you, actually. If you’re popping by.”

“Sure.” His mum shrugs again, turning back to the morning paper.

:

Harry changes into a pair of skinny jeans and a plaid button-up, agonising over whether to switch out of his panties while doing so. His resolve, however, holds firm, even while his cheeks warm up.

He and his mum drive over to Louis’ house, Harry propping his feet on the dashboard even though his mother hates it. She doesn’t chastise him, but she does snort lightly before turning up the radio, playing Fleetwood Mac on high through the speakers.

Harry’s mum walks into Louis’ house without knocking, and Harry follows helplessly behind her. Daisy leaps into his arms, and he settles her onto his hip as he follows his mother towards the back of the house.

“Lou around?” he asks, aiming for casual even while his voice cracks.

“Up in his room. Head up if you like, he ought’to’ve been up ages ago,” Jay says agreeably, ruffling Felicite’s hair as she moves into the kitchen.

“Mum!” Fizzy whines, trying to duck away from her mother’s doting touch even as they both start laughing. “You’ll ruin my hair.”

“Impossible,” Jay claims, moving towards Harry to retrieve Daisy from his hip. She hefts Daisy easily, eyes bright as she looks at Harry. “As if all my children aren’t in love with this beautiful boy,” she murmurs, pressing one thumb into the center of his chin, shaking her head.

Harry swallows, words gone silent inside his head.

“He’s upstairs, pet. Go on ahead.” She nods easily enough, her face ready with a smile. “See if you can’t get him to eat something nutritious today,” she adds, laughing quietly as she turns to Harry’s mum.

 

Harry climbs the stairs without breathing, his right forefinger and thumb rubbing against the bottom of his shirt.

He can’t bear to knock at Louis’ door, as it feels too formal and too pathetic. Instead he turns the handle quietly and peers into the room. Louis has his lights off, both the overhead and his side-table lamp. Harry clears his throat but tries to walk quietly, ambivalent as ever.

“Lou?” The room is dark, so dark that Harry can barely see.

Louis rolls in his bed, towards the door by where Harry is standing. “You’re here.” His voice sounds watery, and that’s wrong beyond measure.

“I’m here.”

“Why did you come?”

Harry lacks words again, and he licks his lips. He shucks off his hoodie, shoes, and shirt, leaving on his skinny jeans. “I’m here for you,” he says, moving towards the bed cautiously.

Louis coughs out a small sob. “You are?”

“Is that okay?” Harry brushes aside Louis’ fringe, very, very slowly.

“Are you okay?”

Harry bites his bottom lip, moving his other hand to the waistband of his jeans. He unbuttons them and lets them fall to his feet. His fingers still in Louis’ fringe.

“Oh,” Louis breathes.

“It’s—not just—” Harry begins, suddenly unsure of himself, nearly naked in just a pair of panties, denim pooled around his legs. He backs away slowly.

“Not just…practise.”

Harry exhales hard. “Right.”

Louis levers himself up onto one arm, his baggy sleep-shirt pooling around his collarbones. “Me neither.”

“That why you left?” Harry lifts one leg, placing his knee on top of Louis’ mattress.

“Scared me.”

“What did?”

Louis flinches, closing his eyes. He rolls away for a moment, but Harry waits for him to reply. “You being so pretty.”

“Oh?”

“For—like. For me.”

Harry reaches a hand out to touch Louis’ shoulder. “I like to be pretty, yeah.” He sighs, kneeing across the mattress slowly. “And to be pretty for you.”

Louis rolls on his side quickly, jostling Harry’s hand away. “I don’t want to be practise.”

Harry swallows, trying to settle his hand onto Louis’ warm skin again. Louis’ shaking as Harry rubs his back. “What is it that you want?” Harry hopes, and he knows that he hopes too hard sometimes.

Louis sighs. “Want to fuck you,” he breathes. “Want to fuck you, babe.”

Harry moves his other hand to Louis’ shoulder before moving to his cheek. “Not just for practise?”

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head, turning into Harry’s touch.

Harry moves to straddle Louis. “Not just because I’m pretty?”

“Because you’re you, babe.” Louis’ eyes flutter shut as he nuzzles against Harry’s hand. His voice is clearer, more confident now that he and Harry are in agreement.

“Not because I’m—I’m not a girl, you know,” Harry bites out, gripping hard at Louis’ hip.

Louis hisses. “I know you’re not.” He bucks upwards once, moving his hand towards Harry’s cock. “I know you’re not, baby.” He doesn’t reach inside Harry’s panties, just palms him through the soft fabric. It feels filthy—Louis’ fully clothed, his hand on Harry’s cock like it’s any other day, and Harry’s nearly undone.

“I’ve never—”

“I know, baby,” Louis replies, his eyes flying open, a wicked grin teasing along his mouth. “Bet I could help you, though. Get you dirty, make you feel so pretty?”

Harry’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head down, hair falling along Louis’ collarbones while he’s straddling Louis’ torso. “Please?”

Louis darts up to kiss Harry, palming his cock hard as he moves. Harry’s already half-hard, had been since he woke up in his panties, probably. He’s rutting down towards Louis’ hand, embarrassed and aroused and flushing. “So lovely for me, darling.”

Harry whines, knocking his forehead against Louis’ shoulder. He exhales sharply before pulling back to bite a lovemark into Louis’ skin, as if trying to regain some semblance of power.

Louis chuckles, thumbing against the slit of Harry’s cock through his wet panties. They’re wet—achingly so—and Harry never noticed it happening. He’s embarrassed for many reasons, and he pulls off of Louis’ collarbone to catch a breath.

“You can stop if you want to,” Louis offers, rubbing at Harry’s cock relentlessly. “But you don’t have to.”

That’s all the offer Harry needs, really, before he’s bending down to kiss Louis hard. Louis’ hand goes slack on his dick, which is fine because the kissing itself is keeping him harder than he ever could have imagined. Eventually, though, Louis resumes his ministrations on Harry, the fabric a bit rough on the sensitive head of his cock. Harry sighs, pulling away for a moment as he opens his eyes. “You can stop if you want to,” he offers, sighing even as he bucks towards Louis’ warm hand. “But I really don’t want you to.”

Louis chuckles, meeting Harry’s eyes. He snakes a hand behind Harry, smirking. He snaps at the waistband of Harry’s panties while pressing against him hard, eyes meeting Harry’s without reluctance. “Why stop now?” he asks quietly. “Not when I think you’re going to come.”

Harry groans, arching forward, pressing into Louis’ open hand. “Gonna—gonna,” Harry babbles, eyes falling shut.

“Come for me.”

 

Shortly after, Louis gets off by rutting against Harry’s wet panties, a teenage cliché made filthy by the fact that they’re both boys.

 

The come-down is calm, despite the fast rabitting of Harry’s heart. They collapse on the bed, messy and sweaty and breathing hard. As they cool off, they curl around one another, Louis petting at Harry’s frizzing curls.

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Harry’s neck.

“This—is this something we should talk about?”

“Is this something you want to keep doing?” Louis’ voice tremors again slightly, but his lips still press softly against Harry’s skin.

“I’m a boy.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re a boy.”

“I know.”

“And I want to keep doing this.”

“W-which part? Dressing up pretty? Dressing up pretty for me?”

“Well, yeah.” Harry’s cheeks flush, but he still rolls his eyes. “But also just being with you in general.”

“Oh.”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Oh, I’d _love_ to have you,” Louis replies, innuendo clear in his voice. Harry feels him leer slightly, but then he sobers up. “I would, though. However you’ll let me have you.”

 _“God.”_ Harry tucks closer, dislodging Louis’ face so he can wrap Louis up in a hug. “I want you so bad.”

Louis laughs, and his body shakes with it.

Harry flinches away. “What’s funny about that?” he asks, voice panicked.

Louis shuffles back closer, settling a calm hand on Harry’s bicep. “Shh, no, shh. I don’t mean anything except—you can have anyone you want, you know?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“S’true. Bet you could even get Zach Malone, ‘fyou wanted.”

“Zach Malone?” Harry squawks, slapping Louis’ side once.

“What? He’s out and proud,” Louis notes, laughing quietly.

“He’s also dumb as a post and twice as ugly,” Harry huffs. “Honestly. Zach Malone.”

“Just saying.”

“I want _you.”_

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. “I’m getting that impression.”

Eventually they remember that they’re in a house that other people are alive and awake in, and they’re both barely dressed. Louis sighs as he watches Harry put his layers back on, Harry wincing as the denim covers his wet panties.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Louis murmurs, ghosting a hand over Harry’s hip.

“Better than leaving them here for someone else to find, I reckon.”

Louis immediately pales. “Fair dues.”

Harry runs one hand along the back of his neck, considering his next works carefully. “We can come to mine, next time.”

“Fewer people to hear us, or—”

“Not just that,” Harry admits. “I, um. I have more things I can show you.”

“More pretty things?”

“I like to think so, yeah.”

Louis grins at him, bright and beautiful as anything.

:

For all their big talk about fucking, they’re tentative, careful, and slow around one another. Harry thinks they both sense that they need that, the pair of them, as they set out to do something neither has done before.

Before they try anything else, they cuddle up in Harry’s bed one Tuesday evening, a rainy-day playlist on in the background. “So, are we together, like officially?” Harry murmurs, petting gently at Louis’ left hip.

“I’d like to be. I don’t—don’t want to be with anyone else, or like. Share you with anyone else.” Louis closes his eyes, moving gently into Harry’s touch. “If that’s what you want, too.”

“I do. I want you. So bad.”

“I want you too, however you want to be. Just as you are.”

“I don’t think—” Harry inhales slowly. “I don’t think I’m gay.”

“Okay.

“But maybe I am,” he adds as he finally exhales, on a laugh. “Are—are you?”

“No idea, really.” Louis shrugs. “I just know that I’m into you.”

“Yeah?”

“Can’t think of a time I haven’t been, now that I try it.” Louis snorts a bit. “Guess I didn’t know what it was because it felt so—normal.”

Harry bites the inside of his lip. “I don’t really know how much of our situation can be considered normal.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I, uh. Don’t think I do.”

Louis groans. “I don’t know. Safe? Not like I’m a total knobhead. Not like I’m going to amount to nothing just because I’m shit at geography. Just, like. Good.” He sighs. “It sounds selfish but, like, you bring out my best version of myself.”

“Safe,” Harry agrees, smiling. “Safe is good.”

Louis turns to look at Harry. “And you?”

“I feel safe. Too. I feel safe.”

Louis sniffs, nodding once. “Even with me, when you’re—” He seems to lose his words, quirking his lip up.

“When I’m pretty?”

“That. Yes.”

“Yeah. Yes.” Harry’s mouth curls up into a small smile, and he feels himself trying not to grin. “Especially so.”

Louis ruffles his fringe, cheeks turning slightly pink. “So. What do you say we go, uh, practise?”

Harry throws his head back into a laugh. “I say it’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno, comment or shit? It's been a struggle to write lately, so if you have prompt ideas, give me them here too. Or at my tumblr.
> 
> musiclily


End file.
